The Good Life
by lostintranslationagain
Summary: "As they walked to the bullpen, the pair began to draw stares from the other agents. Derek had told them he was bringing his adopted brother to visit for the week. He had told him his brother had special needs, but not much else, because truth be told Spencer could be almost normal one second and out of his mind the next."
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

_ Its my birthday tomorrow. I'm going to the FBI headquarters with my brother. I will be there all week. I am planning on reading books the whole time, even though when I told my brother that he shook his head at me. He wants his friends to be my new friends, since I'm staying for a week_.

Derek Morgan couldn't have been more proud, or more nervous, at the sight of his brother clipping on an FBI visitors pass. Spencer had filled out the paperwork himself and handled the entire exchange with the agent behind the front desk. Of course, Derek had already arranged for the week long visitors pass several days before, but he wasn't planning on telling Spencer that. His younger brother believed he had just gotten himself into the FBI.

"Come on Spencer," Derek said, motioning for his brother to join him as they went through the security checkpoint. Spencer grabbed onto Derek's arm with one hand and continued to mess with his badge with the other.

As they walked through the checkpoint, the security guard nodded to Derek. "SSA Morgan," he greeted kindly. Morgan smiled warmly at the man in return. The guard, Daniel, was a retired Marine and Derek was sure he knew how to kill someone without leaving a trace, but his face and wrinkles reminded Derek of a gentle grandfather. The guard took a peek at Spencer's guest badge and winked at Derek. "Visiting Agent Morgan," he greeted.

"My name isn't 'visiting agent,'" Spencer objected. "And your name isn't 'SSA.' Its Derek."

Derek laughed. "Daniel's just messing with you."

Spencer studied the guard's face for several seconds until he was satisfied that that was the truth. "You can call me Dr. Morgan," he finally said.

"Sure thing, Dr. Morgan," Daniel nodded.

Derek shrugged at the guard with a small grin on his face, trying to convey his thankfulness at the guard's attempt at making his brother smile, and his apologies that it hadn't worked. They got through the checkpoint and went to the elevators. As they walked, Derek felt Spencer tighten his grip more and more until Derek had to extract himself from Spencer's grasp in the elevators.

"Okay, kid, I thought you wanted to come to my work this week?" Derek said questioningly.

Spencer only nodded.

"Then why the vice grip on my arm?" he asked. Spencer didn't answer. "Not going to talk?"

Spencer shook his head.

"That's gonna make it tough to meet my friends," Derek pointed out. Spencer ran his fingers through his hair, a sign of worry, then suddenly hit his thigh with a tightly curled fist.

"Hey!" Derek said, quickly grabbing Spencer's arms. "You either tell me what's wrong or you show me in your speech book. If you hit yourself, I'm going to have to take you home."

Spencer silently struggled to get out of Derek's grasp and slowly Derek let go. As soon as he did, Spencer brought his fist down to strike his leg again.

"No," Derek said firmly, catching his arms again mid-strike. "You can't hit yourself just because you are upset." He wanted to threaten to take away the FBI trip again, but he knew it was an empty threat. He couldn't miss work and Spencer couldn't stay alone in his apartment. Tears sprang up uninvited to Derek's eyes and he tried desperately to blink them back.

The only thing that could make the situation worse is if Derek lost it, too.

His brother squinted his eyes, trying to analyze Derek's new expression. He couldn't figure out why Derek was suddenly sad. Was it because he had tried to hit himself? He hadn't meant to. Sometimes his body got ahead of his mind. He hated when his brother was upset – that's what tears meant. But he hadn't hit Derek, he had hit himself. He was sure of it. Why was Derek upset? He couldn't stand to see his brother upset. Spencer brought his hands up to cover his ears and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Damn it," Derek muttered, watching Spencer withdraw into himself. He still lightly held onto Spencer's arms but now he used his grip to tug the younger man's hands away from his ears. "Spencer, listen. I'm not upset with you. I promise."

The doors of the elevator opened and Derek gently led Spencer out of the elevator. The change in environment caused Spencer to open his eyes but it wasn't enough to distract him. Spencer pointed to Derek's now-dry eyes suspiciously.

"I'm not upset with you," Derek assured him again. "We can talk about it later. Right now, I want you to meet my friends. Are you ready?"

Spencer nodded hesitantly. He knew this was something important he needed to do, whether or not he was ready.

"Still no talking?" Derek asked. When he didn't get a response he asked, "Why not? Show me in your speech book."

Spencer dutifully pulled out a leather-bound notebook from his messenger bag. Derek knew which page Spencer was about to read. It was undoubtedly his least favorite page in the entire book.

"I am not talking because I am repeating words," Spencer read, then clamped his mouth shut.

Derek hated that page. It was painfully true to who his brother was. The statement was short, devoid of emotion, full of fact. But the reason behind the statement was emotion through and through. Spencer often repeated words over and over, usually when he was nervous. Spencer wasn't very skilled socially, so any situation involving unfamiliar people was nerve-wracking for him.

When he came to live with the Morgans he rarely talked. He had his lips pursed constantly. When he did speak, it was as if his mouth couldn't keep the words in and he would repeat what someone else had just said. Then Spencer would hit himself until one of his new family members could get him into one of the wrestling holds the social worker had taught them to use. It took several months before any of the family even saw Spencer breath through his mouth, lips parted instead of pursed. Derek shuttered to think about the abuse Spencer must have faced before adoption.

"Okay," Derek agreed. "Talk whenever you're ready." Derek wondered if his brother knew that that page would always break him down. He held out his hand but Spencer declined with a shake of his head. "I'll show you my desk first."

As they walked to the bullpen, the pair began to draw stares from other agents. Prentiss and JJ were both at Prentiss' desk looking at case files. Derek had told them he was bringing his adopted brother to visit for the week. He had told him his brother was special needs, but not much else, because truth be told Spencer could be almost normal one second and out of his mind the next.

Derek signaled them to wait just a minute before coming over as the brothers arrived at Derek's desk. "This is it," he said.

"Its dirty," Spencer whispered.

Derek laughed. "There's a method to the madness," he assured Spencer. His brother was undoubtedly referring to the stack of disheveled case files on his desk. Derek turned on his computer and logged in. A picture of his family popped up as his background. "You know them?" he asked.

"You know them? You know them?" Spencer repeated softly. "There's me, and you, mom, our family." Derek could tell Spencer was honestly touched that he was on Derek's computer background. Simple things could make Spencer so happy.

Quietly JJ and Emily came up to Derek's desk. "Hey," JJ said gently, getting the two men's attention.

Derek took a deep breath. "Spencer, these are two of my friends and teammates, JJ and Emily."

Spencer looked up and gave each a brief smile.

"He's not in a talking mood," Derek said, hoping that by saying that Spencer would choose to prove him wrong.

Sure enough, Spencer took the bait and opened his mouth to protest but didn't know what to say. There was a brief look of panic directed at Derek until Derek tapped the cover of the speech book. He quickly found one of the first pages and read aloud. "When you meet new people you say hello my name is Spencer. It is nice to meet you." He looked back up at the ladies and said very quickly, "Hello my name is Spencer. It is nice to meet you."

It was hard not to smile at Spencer's genuine attempt. "Its nice to meet you too," JJ said. "Morgan told us you're staying the whole week?"

"Morgan told us you're staying the whole week? Morgan… Morgan?" Spencer repeated, looking toward his brother for clarification. Who was Morgan and why did he know Spencer's plans?

"That's me," Derek said. "We like to call eachother by our last names here."

Spencer nodded slowly, his brow furrowed. His mind reeled with information from various books he had read regarding law enforcement, scenes from TV shows played in his mind, lines from fiction books… it was too much information. He rubbed his face and ran his hands through his hair, then brought his hands to his ears and squeezed his eyes shut to try to stop the flood.

"You okay, kid?" he heard Derek's muffled voice ask.

"You okay, kid?" Spencer repeated several times. He felt Derek's hand squeeze his shoulder supportively. He felt the rush of information pass and he tried to concentrate on the feeling of Derek's hand. That was real. That wasn't in his head. "I'm okay, kid," he finally answered. "TV does it too."

The episode had only lasted a ten seconds at the most, but Derek knew Spencer would be embarassed. JJ and Emily looked pretty confused at Spencer's final statement. Wordlessly, Derek gently pushed Spencer into his desk chair and opened up one of the case files. "While you're here you're going to do some work," Derek said. Spencer looked up at him doubtfully, unsure if Derek was teasing or not. JJ and Emily watched with interest as Derek pulled out a large notebook from his desk and set it next to the case files. "I want you to read each of these files and write a list of everything they have in common."

Spencer nodded, grateful to have something to occupy his mind.

As he set to work, Derek walked with Emily and JJ to Emily's desk. While not out of earshot of Spencer, he knew Spencer's concentration was fully on his project now. "He's not having a great day," Derek explained. "He's a smart kid with a lot of mental problems. He can't process information as quickly as he can take it in. I'm guessing he saw on TV some cops calling eachother by their last names. Took him a minute to process that that's what we do too. Poor kid is brilliant but his brain or emotions can't handle it."

"This is all probably overwhelming," JJ said. "How is he taking it?"

Derek felt like someone had punched him in the gut. "I haven't told him about mom yet," he confessed. "He thinks our mom is on vacation. Hell, he thinks _he_ is on vacation. My sister is shipping some of his stuff out here this week. I've got to tell him before he finds half his bedroom has been fedex-ed to my front porch."

JJ gave him a sympathetic smile. "Whens the funeral?"

"Not until next week," he said. "My mom had a lot of foster kids. Sarah and Desiree want to make sure as many can get there as possible."

"That's kind of them," Emily said.

"There were probably 20 kids in and out while I was growing up, more after I moved out. We probably wouldn't care so much, except at one point Spencer was one of those foster kids."

The ladies nodded in understanding. "What did Hotch say?" Emily asked.

Derek gave them a deep sigh and their eyes widened. "You didn't tell him?" JJ asked incredulously.

"He knows my brother is visiting," Derek answered. Suddenly, Derek looked like a very broken man. "How am I supposed to tell Spencer?"

If they were taken aback by Derek's sudden openness, they didn't show it. Derek was normally such a private man. Since the case in Chicago about a year ago, public information about his life had taken a huge leap forward, but it hadn't grown much since then. It was second nature to profile each other and really, to profile one's self. It was just as natural to slip into that profile, to live it out. Derek lived his profile perfectly: alpha male, untrusting, his caring nature coming from a natural instinct to protect the paxk. Until several days ago, the team had no idea he had a special needs brother.

Their team leader still didn't know. As if on cue, Hotch appeared on the walkway. He squinted down at the skinny, pale, young man sitting at Derek's desk. There couldn't have been a more opposite looking person from Derek unless perhaps the man was a woman. Spener was certainly the opposite of what Hotch had expected to see. Emily noticed Hotch first and discretely motioned to JJ and Derek. Hotch locked eyes on Derek, silently ordering him upstairs for an explanation.

"Good luck, Morgan," Emily said quietly.

He was going to need it.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: A HUGE thank you to all who reviewed, followed, and favorited!

I didn't intro this story at all in the first chapter because honestly I wasn't too sure I would even keep posting. This is going to be a long story, just a forewarning, but I do have the ending planned out so hopefully I will be able to finish it with regular updates.

Thanks again for the reviews! I truly truly appreciate them!

Chapter 2:

Hotch's stare was burning the back of Derek's neck as he walked back to his desk.

"Spencer," he said, trying to get his brother's attention. Spencer already had a list pages long. The case files were more spread out than before but looked decidedly neater. Spencer had already organized them, read through a fourth of them, and created an impressive list in the time it took Derek to have a simple conversation. "Spencer," Derek tried again.

Derek hated to do it – he knew the consequence – but he also know what would happen if he kept Hotch waiting. Spencer hated being startled. He reached out and put his hand on his brother. Spencer jumped back in surprise. "Don't touch me!" he shouted. He garnered the attention of everyone in the room. One by one, they turned away again and busied themselves in their own tasks.

"I'm sorry, kid," Derek said, though his voice coveyed nothing but strain and exasperation. "Did you hear me say your name?"

"Did you hear me say your name? I can't stop my ear drums from taking in sound or my brain from processing it. Sound is processed in the temperal lobe." It was the pissiest answer, Spencer's version of being an annoying younger brother.

"Okay, did you pay attention to me saying your name?" Derek tried again, trying to keep the edge of frustration out of his voice. He could feel Hotch's eye boring into him.

"The thalamus determines what I 'pay attention to,'" Spencer retorted. Then Derek could almost see the gears shift in Spencer's brain. "Its really cool actually. It does much more than just determine what you pay attention to. The thalamus…"

"… Kid," Derek said, cutting him off. Hotch's patience he was sure was wearing thin. "Sorry I touched you. I needed you to know that I have to go to a meeting. I'll be back." Derek could again see the shift in Spencer from academic to child in an instant. "I promise, I'll be right back. If you need anything Emily is sitting right there. Do you need to write anything in your speech book?"

"Do you need to write anything in your speech book?" Spencer repeated. "No. I can do it."

"I'll be right up there," Derek said, pointing to Hotch's office and, indirectly, Hotch, who still stood on the walkway. Spencer nodded and forced himself to look at his speech book. He knew he would get too nervous watching his brother walk away.

He hoped Derek came back soon. He didn't want to have to ask the girls where the bathroom was.

Upstairs, Derek wished his only concern was where the bathroom was.

"You should have told me," Hotch said.

"I know."

"You have to trust me."

"What was I supposed to say?" Derek asked. "That my mom is dead and now I have guardianship of my mentally retarded brother? That he requires 24 hour care and theres nobody else in my family who can care for themselves much less Spencer, too. What was I supposed to say?"

"That would have been a good start," Hotch said. Both men were standing on opposite sides of Hotch's desk.

Derek took a deep, defeated breath. "I have to do this," Derek said. "Hotch, I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm doing, but I have to do this. I have to take care of him."

Hotch came around the desk and uncharacteristically put a hand on Derek's shoulder. "Whatever you need," he said solomnly. It was a promise.

"I appreciate that, Hotch," Derek said, nodding in understanding.

"I'll arrange your time off next week for the funeral. After that, we can look at leaves of absense," Hotch said.

"I don't want to leave the team, but if I have to to take care of my brother…"

Hotch's grip tightened on Derek's shoulder. "I don't want to lose you," Hotch said firmly. "We'll find a way."

Derek felt the now-familiar tears spring up again. "I appreciate that," he repeated, trying to swallow them back. He had no idea how Hotch would make good on that promise. Hotch opened the door for Derek then followed the man out. They stood silently on the walkway for several seconds, both watching Spencer.

"Is he going to be okay?" Hotch asked.

Derek sighed. "He's all alone."

"No, he's not," Hotch said. "You're his family. And your family is our family."

This time Derek let the tears fall freely. "Can I ask a personal question?" he asked.

Hotch already knew what Derek was going to ask. "How did I tell Jack?" he guessed. Derek nodded. "It wasn't easy. I think Jack already knew. He was quiet for a long time, took a while for him to get back to being a kid. Has anything like this ever happened before to Spencer?"

"No one knows what happened to his biological parents. He was 9 when he was abandoned at a gas station. Came to our family when he was 10. My mom wanted to adopt him right away. It was obvious how brilliant he was, and how disturbed. She thought it was just emotional trauma, then later autism."

"Was he ever diagnosed?" Hotch asked.

"School psychologists wanted to and I'm sure its in a file somewhere but my mom wouldn't hear it. He can't handle himself socially, hurts himself when he's frustrated, he wasn't really able to communiate verbally until he was 11," Derek explained. "But who knows what he went through as a kid. I've never been able to profile him. My mom always thought that with enough therapy or work or something… or maybe she just couldn't admit there was something wrong with her baby." The words spilled out before Derek could stop himself.

The two were interrupted by JJ. "Sorry," she said quietly. The word lingered in the air – she was sorry about interrupting their conversation, sorry that Spencer's first day was about to be ruined by a case, sorry that Morgan was now going to have to scramble to find someone to watch over Spencer, sorry that Morgan's mother was dead… "Sorry," she said again, this time with more strength in her voice. "PD in Loring, Virginia just called with a case they should have called us about a month ago."

Hotch nodded and JJ continued down to the conference room. He turned to Derek. "If we have a case, what do you want to do?" he asked. Derek looked at Hotch with sad, overwhelmed eyes, completely at a loss. Before he could answer (though it wouldn't have been much of an answer), Hotch interrupted. "We can discuss it later," he said, sensing Derek's effette.

Derek nodded his thanks and followed Hotch down the stairs. To his surprise, instead of walking right into the conference room he turned left toward Derek's desk.

The case files had shifted yet again and a quick look at Spencer's paper revealed his list had tripled. Some of the items were silly – "all victims had parents, all victims had hair," but some were connections that Derek would have never thought of. "All victims got raises in the month before they died," Spencer had written most recently.

Interrupting Spencer was a delicate art. Talking to him wouldn't catch his attention and touching him usually brought on a meltdown or even worse, an outburst of anger that was so unusual otherwise. The only option left was to move into his line of sight and slowly draw him out of "the zone," as their mother had called it. Hotch watched as Derek coyly laid his hand on Spencer's notebook. Spencer didn't seem to notice; he continued writing furiously. Derek moved his hand to Spencer's pen. Spencer let out a frustrated grunt, causing both Derek and Hotch to stifle a smile. Spencer tried to write but Derek held on to the top of the pen and wiggled it, unable to resist the urge to tease his younger brother.

"Stop it," Spencer mumbled.

Success.

"Spencer, I want you to meet someone," Derek said, gently tugging the pen out of his brother's hand. Spencer looked up and met Hotch's eyes. He immediately sat back, his eyes widening. "This is my boss and friend Aaron. We call him Hotch."

"The etymology of the words 'Aaron' and 'Hotch' have no common morphemes or semantics," Spencer objected. "The origen of 'Aaron' is ancient Hebrew meaning 'mountain.' 'Hotch' is a scottish word. To falter. The two are unrelated."

Derek opened his mouth to respond but was at a loss for words. "Its nice to meet you," Hotch said, extending his hand as if Spencer hadn't said anything.

Derek's stomach notted as he saw Spencer's expression change from snarky academic to kid again. "Its nice to meet you, its nice to meet you," Spencer repeated. His voice rose in pitch and in panic at each word; he was at a loss for what to do. His eyes shifted nervously from Hotch's hand to his brother. It was purely coicidence the words he was repeating were what he was supposed to say. Wordlessly, Derek nodded toward Spencer's messenger bag which held his speech book. Spencer quickly pulled it out and opened it up. "When you meet new people you say hello my name is Spencer. It is nice to meet you." He held out his hand blindly and read again, "Hello my name is Spencer. It is nice to meet you."

Hotch had to move his hand quite a ways to grab Spencer's and when he did Spencer jumped a little.

"I have to go into a meeting," Derek said.

"Another one?" Spencer complained.

"Sorry," Derek said. "I told you that when you came to work with me we would both be working, right?" Spencer nodded. "Well, I need you to work on this list. And I need to do some work in that conference room over there." Derek pointed across to the room where the majority of the team was already gathered.

"Just over there?" Spencer asked suspiciously.

"If I go anywhere else, I'll tell you. I promise," Derek said.

"I want to come with you," Spencer said obstinately.

To Hotch it looked like Spencer was pouting, but Derek knew his younger sibling was scared. He threw a look at Hotch, silently asking permission. Hotch's first instinct was to protect the man who clearly had the emotional maturity of a child, but one look at Derek's desk told him that Derek had already shown Spencer a myriad of disturbing crime scene photos. If Derek didn't have a problem with it, Hotch didn't either. He nodded his concent.

"Okay," Derek agreed.

"Please – I have to!" Spencer almost shouted.

"I said okay," Derek said again, then laughed as Spencer smiled shyly at himself. "Why do you want to go so bad?" Spencer looked down at his speech book and clamped his mouth shut, but didn't turn to a page. Whatever the reason, Derek wasn't going to know – at least for the moment. "Grab your pen and notebook, lets go."

Spencer jumped up, pen, notebook, and speechbook in hand. Hotch watched as Derek and Spencer moved toward eachother as they came around from opposite sides of the desk. Derek held out his arm slightly and Spencer latched on, the movement so practiced that Hotch was sure neither had given it any conscious thought. It reminded him of how he would grab Jack's hand in a parking lot.

Hotch stole a glance at Derek's computer. He instantly recognized Derek's family on the computer screen. His mother was beaming sandwiched between her four children. Derek looked massive compared to his two sisters. All four looked like they were trying to force controlled smiles during a fit of laughter. Spencer was in the picture too, tucked under his mom's arms. He wasn't laughing at whatever the rest of the family was, but he looked happy all the same.

Watching Derek and Spencer walk toward the conference room, Hotch couldn't help but wonder what would happen to Spencer when Derek finally told him. Taking one last look at the picture on the computer before heading into the conference room himself, Hotch promised himself he would do whatever he had to do to help.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you for your reviews! They mean so much and really spur me on to keep writing!

I want to clarify ages briefy. Spencer came to the Morgans at age 10, and I wanted to give Spencer and Derek at least a few years to grow up together before Derek would have gone to college. So that puts Derek about 6 years older than Spencer and Spencer in his mid twenties.

Hope you enjoy!

CHAPTER 3:

Everyone was already settled in the conference room when the three walked in. JJ stood next to the flat screen, clicker in hand, ready to present. Emily's mouth opened slightly in surprise as Spencer ambled in, his grip tightening on Derek to the point that it was getting difficult for either man to walk. Gideon took in the scene, no expression registering on his face. Derek straightened a bit, acutely aware that he and his brother were being profiled.

"Spencer, stop pulling on me. Stand up straight," Derek whispered. As irrational as it was, he didn't want Spencer's current state to be Gideon's first profilable impression. If Spencer had walked in speaking perfect English in a suit, he probably would have blown the charade within minutes. But Derek couldn't help but want the team to think the best of his brother. He wanted them to see the brother that he saw.

Derek gestured to two vacant chairs. "Sit down," he whispered.

"Stand up. Sit down," Spencer mumbled. "Stand up. Sit down. Those are opposite directions, you know."

"Life's not fair," Derek mumbled back, half teasing, half serious. A briefing called like this usually meant they had a serious case on their hands. It was time for Derek to get into his own zone, so to speak. He opened Spencer's notebook to a new page and made sure that Spencer had his pen ready, then threw all his concentration into JJ's presentation.

"Loring, Virginia," JJ began as the first picture popped up on-screen of a map. "Small town, rural, but an unusually high crime rate. The drug rates are through the roof. There have been four murders in four months, each killing brutal. At first the police thought it was teenagers on meth or LCD." JJ clicked through several pictures of women, all in their mid-twenties. Their "before" and "after" shots were sickening – beautiful, professional, women, all vibrant and full of life, juxtaposed next to pictures of their mutilated, bloodied, corpses. "There is no descernable pattern. No signature. First murder the unsub used a gun, the second a knife, the third and fourth seem almost… cannibalistic. Bite marks were found in the flesh of all four victims, but the cause of death of the last two... the ME said that it looked like the body had been filleted." JJ looked down at her notes. "'Like a Christmas ham,' to quote him directly," she finished with a note of disgust.

"Sadist?" Emily threw out onto the table. "Male. A female likely couldn't, or wouldn't, dominate a victim so easily."

"Sadist?" Spencer whispered several times. Derek didn't miss Hotch's frown lines deepen.

"Without a signature, how can we be sure this the work of a serial killer?" Derek asked, jumping in to cover Spencer's muttering. "You said it – high crime rates, LSD trips, and the victims look like easy targets. How many murders does Loring see?"

"Hardly any," JJ answered. "Most crime is petty theft, break-ins, consistent with rampant drug use. These are the only four murders the town has had in years. My guess is that a group of teenagers got their hands on some powerful drugs."

"I agree. Lets advise the PD and send them a preliminary profile. I don't think we need to go down there," Hotch said.

"What day?"

All eyes turned to Spencer, including Derek's, who felt his stomach drop. "Not now, Spencer," he warned.

"What day?" Spencer asked again.

"We're staying here today. No trip to Loring," Derek told him, misunderstanding. If Spencer got wound up there would be no discreet exit of the room, no distraction big enough, no words that could be used to calm him back down from the melt down he was headed for.

Spencer pointed to the screen and repeated his question.

Hesistantly, JJ answered, "One per month, different dates, different times. Again, no real pattern. January 30, February 28, March 30, and April 28."

"What day?" Spencer repeated. Derek quickly flipped to a page in Spencer's book and pointed to the phrase "repeating words" and looked at his brother questioningly. Spencer shook his head and closed the book on Derek's hand with force. "What day?" he asked again.

"All different days of the week," JJ told him.

Spencer was beginning to get upset. He brought his fist to his leg, ready to hit himself in frustration. "I know. Saturday, Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday," he said. "I mean what day?"

Aaron oscillated between impressed that Spencer had known what days of the week those dates fell on and impatient as is briefing was being disrupted. Obviously, his first impression of an impossibly quiet young man was untrue. He shot Derek a warning look.

"Spencer, if you want to stay in the meeting, you need to be quiet. Or use different words we can understand," Derek said as he took ahold of Spencer's fist. "And no hitting yourself." He tried to sqirm away but Derek's grib was too strong. Spencer glowered at Derek as he mumbled and repeated Derek's rebuke several times.

"Werewolves," he finally burst out. His body instantly relaxed as if all the tension had exploded out of him in one word. Derek slowly released his grip. Spencer looked relieved, like he could breathe and think again.

The room stilled and Derek raised his eye brows in surprise. That was the last word any of them had expected Spencer to say. Derek began to laugh, breaking the tension in the room. "Werewolves?" he questioned.

"Werewolves? January 30, February 28, March 30, April 28. What day? Werewolves," Spencer repeated. He broke away from Derek's grasp and sat back, satisfied he had found different words as Derek had instructed.

"Care to enlighten us?" Hotch asked, clearly unamused.

"Somehow the logical answer to 'What day?' is 'werewolves,'" Derek said. "I'm sorry, Hotch." It wasn't often Derek apologized – Hotch knew better than to continue riding him.

Slowly, the attention turned back to JJ but before she could speak, Garcia shot her hand up on the air. With the commotion Spencer made, nobody had noticed her arrival to the conference room. She stood in the doorway excitedly. "Oh! I get it!"

"Yes?" Gideon said, as if he were picking a child in classroom to answer a question.

"Werewolves. Bad asses of the supernatural world. They fight with vampires and make me a little…" she trailed off when she saw Hotch's face. "Lets just say that I felt much better about watching Twilight so obsessively when I found out that Taylor Lochner is legal. Anyways. Werewolves only transform on a full moon which we usually only have once a month. Because our calendar is Gregorian, not lunar, they fall on different days, different dates, and different times-."

"What time!" Spencer exclaimed, finding the words for the question he had meant to ask all along. "What time did they die?"

JJ checked her notes. "All across the board. 6 am, 4 pm, 2 am, midnight, approximately."

"Werewolves," Spencer said again. "They all died at the exact time the moon was fullest. It's werewolves."

"That's our unsub's signature," Gideon exclaimed. "A kid on an acid trip might believe he's a werewolf but he's not checking his calendar and watch before he kills. This was pre-meditated."

"And the bite marks on the third and fourth victims," Emily added.

"But the first two were killed with a gun and a knife," Spencer pointed out. It was a strangely lucid statement from a man who had been shouting about werewolves and hitting himself only moments earlier.

"Its called evolving," Derek explained. "Serial killers begin like babies – they try things out, figure out what they like and what they don't like. As they kill more and more, they grow up. They figure out ways to kill better, get more comfortable, and usually they settle into a pattern. That is usually when we notice them and its also how we catch them."

"So the baby started off with a gun, then when he became an adult he began to bite people? Sounds backwards to me," Spencer said.

"Killing is backwards," Derek pointed out. "What did mom always tell you?"

"What did mom always tell you? Wash your hands," Spencer said seriously.

Derek laughed. "No, what did she tell you about life?"

"When you have the good life, fight to keep it. She made that up herself, its not a common idiom or saying nor does it have its roots in any American or British literature," Spencer said. "And she _does_ tell me that. Not _did_."

The room went silent again, the heaviness palpable. All eyes simultaneously shot to Derek. Spencer, thankfully unaware, turned back to his notebook and began to write "Suspect: werewolf cub" on the top line. As Derek smiled at his brother's profile, he felt tears well up in his eyes. Their mother had meant everything to Derek, but she was _everything_ to Spencer. Derek recalled the countless times she had worked all night then cheerfully woken Spencer up, given him a bath, brushed his teeth, helped him eat, driven him to school, then fought twelve rounds with the administration to get him into a regular class for some subject Spencer already had down. He remembered the countless hours she spent teaching him to talk and developing his speech book, only to have Spencer throw the first one (and second, and third) into the fireplace, bathtub, and compost pile out of frustration. She taught him how to study alone in the library by numbering every book the Morgans owned to teach him the Dewey Decimal System. She could stay up for hours listening to Spencer tearfully babble on about physics or chemistry – stand in subjects for the haunting memories from his past he had never been able to talk about.

Derek couldn't stop the fragmented memories from flooding back to him and he pinched the corners of his eyes to keep from crying. Spencer turned back to him, a huge smile on his face. For all Spencer knew, he was on vacation and had just solved a quadruple homicide for the FBI. It was a dream come true. Suddenly Derek felt nauseus.

How could he possibly do this?

Spencer's smile faded as he slowly took note of his brother's face. "Whats wrong?" he asked. Derek knew every day that passed it would get harder and harder to tell him. Before he could say anything, Spencer spoke again. "You have the bad lips," he chastized.

Derek laughed, unpursing his lips. How many times had his mom told Spencer to "stop it with the bad lips" and open his mouth. "You know when you want to say something but you just don't have the right words?"

A solemn nod. "Yes. All the time."

"This is just going to have to be one of those times," Derek said. "I'll explain later."

Derek wasn't sure if that explanation would fly. Typically, Spencer didn't accept non-logical answers. This time though, Spencer nodded in the exact same way that Derek had earlier, giving him permission not to talk. Spencer opened his messenger bag and pulled out his speech book (speech book number seven, if Derek remembered right).

"Here," Spencer said, holding it out to Derek. "You look like you need this more than I do."

"Thanks," Derek said, taking it into his hands. It was Spencer's most prized possession and the gesture was overwhelming.

Spencer then leaned over to whisper in Derek's ear. It was so unusual for Spencer to be so sensitive; Derek couldn't wait to hear what his brother could have possibly thought of to say to comfort him.

"Derek…" Spencer began hesitantly. "I… I need to use the bathroom."

Derek laughed, dissipating his tears. He tucked Spencer's speech book back in his messenger bag. The rest of the team, having plainly heard Spencer's "whisper" began to laugh, too.

"We'll drive out in an hour," Hotch ordered. He looked at Derek and quietly added. "That's an hour to get him a go-bag, if you want. It can't be official, but if you just happened to be in Loring on your leave up absense…"

Derek's eyes widened. Never did he think he could get Spencer permission to join him at work. Never in his wildest dreams did he picture Hotch _inviting_ Spencer to come.

This was going to be interesting.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Again, thank you to all who reviewed, favorited, and followed! I meant to update sooner but time got away from me. Thanks to those who have sent me PM's with thoughts and comments, I appreciate it. Reviews mean a lot to me

This isn't going to be a casefic, but cases help move the story along a bit. Hope you enjoy chapter 4!

_Derek said mom would be happy I was in Loring helping the team. I tried to call her from his desk but he wouldn't let me. Two logical answers for this: one, Derek is lying and she is going to be angry with him when she finds out, or two, I can't call her because she will be angry with me (and probably him too). _

Spencer turned the page of his new notebook back to the one titled: "Profile." The thought of his mom being angry with him was overwhelming and he was already feeling sick from the car ride. Loring was only an hour away by car and Derek was trying to fit in lessons about police procedure, profiling, and casework. Spencer, who either listened completely or not at all, had completely tuned out his brother. The truck held a box of books about psychology and criminal justice. Spencer thought it was absolutely pointless for his brother to try to explain something second hand when he could read the source material for himself at 20,000 words a minute. His brother could be so illogical.

The team was driving up in their black FBI SUVs. Derek and Spencer had rented a car, one that was about to be christened with car sickness. "Derek!" Spencer suddenly shouted.

Derek, who had been completely sure just seconds earlier that Spencer was completely absorbed in his own thoughts, jumped and swerved the car. "Whats wrong?" Derek asked, taking his eyes off of the road for as long as he dared to attend to his brother.

"Whats wrong? I need to get out!"

Noticing how pale Spencer looked, especially against the black leather seats, Derek quickly pulled over and slowed to a stop.

"I need out!" Spencer shouted again.

Derek reached across Spencer and pulled the door handle, then pushed as forcefully as he could with the tips of his fingers to open the door. Then he reached down, painfully aware his body was directly under Spencer's mouth, and popped off the seatbelt. Spencer quickly jumped out of the car and made it a few feet before throwing up his lunch in the weedy grass bordering the road.

Once Spencer straightened up, Derek got out and offered his brother a water bottle. Spencer took it gratefully. "Get carsick?" Derek asked.

"Get carsick? Its called kinetosis," Spencer corrected, sputtering out the words.

"Okay, get kinetosis?"

"Yes. Unless I was actually posioned," Spencer retorted.

"Actually posioned?" Derek questioned, knowing he was in for a lecture.

"Kinetosis is caused by the brain believing that body has injested a toxin causing the inner ear to hallucinate motion while the eyes see only fixed objects. The body gets rid of the hallucinagen with episodes of emesis," Spencer said. Somewhere during the speech, Spencer had turned from being woozy to academic expert, forgetting his "episode of emesis" altogether. Derek liked his brother's speeches, and even though he didn't always give them at the most opportune times, he liked that they gave others an opportunity to see just how brilliant his brother was. Derek also found some measure of comfort in them. Spencer was the most himself when he was "lecturing" as his mom used to teasingly call it. The speech book, the self injurous behavior, the frustration at trying to unsuccessfully figure out the rest of the world, those were the things that made Derek feel so incredibly lost and inept in Spencer's world.

Still, Derek knew that any time he looked into his brother's big eyes he would be done for. Spencer had never "played" someone a second in his life – Derek wasn't sure Spencer even knew the meaning of the phrase – but he would always have Derek wrapped around his little finger at the end of the day.

Derek put his arm around Spencer's bony shoulders and helped him back into the car. When Derek got in, he took Spencer's notebook and threw it in the backseat.

"I need that!" Spencer protested.

Derek stared up the car and pulled back onto the road. "You might know why your body gets kinetosis," he said. "But I know why you get carsick. Its from looking down while you're in a car. Keep your eyes on the lamp poles and you won't throw up. And stop it with the bad lips, kid." He touseled Spencer's long hair, teasing his younger brother.

Spencer smiled and did as he was told. "Will it be dangerous to be in Loring?" he asked.

"Not at the police station," Derek answered.

"I don't need a gun?" Spencer asked.

Derek laughed. Then words slipped out before he even thought about them: "Mom would kill me if I gave you a gun!"

Suddenly, Derek was the one to feel nausous. A wave passed over him and he bit the inside of his mouth. The pain focused him as he regained his composure. Next to him, Spencer continued looking from lamppole to lamppole, unaware of Derek's anguish, unaware that his life had changed but nobody had told him yet. Derek wished he had some semblance of a plan to tell Spencer. He wasn't sure why he had thought a trip to Loring was a good idea a few hours ago. His eyes caught a welcome sign. It was an unusually beautiful sign with new paint over the aged wood. The lettering was looping cursive and there were flowered vines hand painted as a border.

Next to the welcome sign was another. Black spray paint on neon yellow poster board: "NOT SAFE - TURN AROUND."

"I definitely need a gun," Spencer muttered as they drove by.

Derek didn't comment this time. Instead, he picked up where he had left off in his crime solving lessons. Spencer was paying attention this time and Derek could practically see his mind absorbing the information. He knew that every word he said would be remembered. It wasn't as though Spencer would be making any arrests, but Derek knew he woudn't be able to keep Spencer from trying to solve a problem as big as finding a serial killer. And Spencer was the reason why the BAU had decided to come to Loring.

They pulled up to a small police station. The private parking lot was crammed with squad cars and black SUVs making it painfully obvious that the FBI were now on the case. Derek hoped that the unsub wasn't a narcissist – the attention would elate him. He explained this to Spencer as they walked into the station, stopping briefly to grab a box of books from the trunk.

The place was buzzing with activity. The team had probably only made it a half hour before them but already they were knee deep in the case. Hotch spotted them quickly from across the room and motioned to Derek. He pointed to a small room off the bullpen, corned off by windowed walls. Spencer latched on tighter to Derek's arm.

"Can I help you, sir?" an officer asked unhappily as Derek juggled the box of books and went for the latch gate in the waist high wall that seperated the lobby from the rest of the station. Spencer immediately began repeating the question much to Derek's chagrin. Derek easily recognized the look on the cop's face as one he had seen too often – hatred.

Derek pulled his badge from his pocket. "SSA Morgan," he said.

The cop looked at him dubiously, then at Spencer in disgust. "And the retard?"

"My _brother_, Spencer," Derek said, praying to God that Spencer hadn't heard, but of course he had.

"And the retard? And the retard?" Spencer repeated. Derek could feel the fabric on his shirt go taut around his bicep as Spencer grabbed a fistfull nervously.

Derek's hand tighted into a fist on reflex but he managed to control his temper. "I've got my ID, man. Just let us through."

Derek tried not to show his frustration as the cop turned around to look for anyone who could approve of Spencer. The cop's eyes met Hotch's. Hotch again motioned for them and the cop reluctantly opened the gate for them.

"Thanks," Derek spat out. He and Spencer walked toward Hotch who was standing by a white board that was already collecting pictures. Spencer muttered the cop's comment again, causing Hotch to raise an eyebrow. "They've got the small town charm down," Derek commented sarcastically.

"They aren't thrilled with our presence here," Hotch said. "Looking at the forensics we have a preliminary profile but its broad, even for a small town. We're going to have to work closely with the locals."

Derek understood what Hotch meant: they needed to do everything they could not cause a rift between the PD and the BAU, even if it meant swallowing some much warranted anger.

"I informed them of our unique situation and they said Spencer could use the conference room," Hotch continued. Derek tried not to show his displeasure at others knowing his personal business. "And remember," Hotch continued, "you're technically on a leave of absense. I don't want you making any arrests or doing anything in an offical capacity. You can stay here, profile, work with the team, review files. And under no circumstances are you to leave Spencer alone." Hotch dropped his voice to a deep whisper. "They obviously have made their opinion of him known. I don't want them to be exposed to each other any more than they need to be."

Derek nodded gratefully. He knew while Hotch wouldn't directly say it, he meant the separation to be for the protection and care of Spencer, not the benefit of the PD. "We'll go get settled," he said. Spencer still had a grip on the sleeve of Derek's shirt but oddly enough it wasn't the deathgrip anymore. To Derek's surprise, Spencer was looking around the police department wide-eyed.

"Come on, kid," Derek said, picking up the box of books from where he had let it rest on a desk. "I've got to do some work and I need you to start studying."

"Where's my office?" Spencer asked.

"This way," he said, motioning clumsily with the box toward the conference room. The large windows would give Derek the ability to keep an eye on his brother without his brother feeling spied upon. Hotch had already left the pair and was engaged in a conversation with the sheriff. Spencer was watching Hotch intently, making it difficult for Derek to move him forward. When they finally made it to the room, Derek sat Spencer down and opened the box.

"There are 13 books in here and my tablet, do you think you can make the books last two days?" he asked.

Spencer burst out laughing, drawing a strained smile from Derek. Spencer had such an odd sense of humor sometimes. "Two days? Two days?" Spencer repeated between laughs as if the idea was absolutely rediculous.

"Okay, okay – one day." Derek picked up his tablet from the top of the stack of books. "Want to use my computer first? We need to know everything about werewolves we possibly can and I don't think I brought any books on that." Actually, Derek was sure of it. Werewolfery wasn't a typical unsub MO.

Spencer cast a worried look at his brother. Before he could start getting worked up, Derek motioned for Spencer to grab his speech book. Spencer pulled it from his messenger bag and found another well worn page.

"Public speaking makes me nervous," he read.

Derek shrugged. "Fair enough," he said. "You don't have to share with the team. Would it help if you had a notebook? Then you could write your observations and research down and I could read them out loud for you."

"Woud it help if you had a notebook? It would help if I had _my_ notebook."

The thought of Spencer's notebook brought another small smile to Derek's face, all the astute conclusions his brother had written in that notebook, namely that the police should put out a BOLO on a werewolf cub. "Okay, I'll get _your_ notebook. Are you okay waiting for me in here?"

Derek could see the worry creep back into Spencer's features. "Hotch told me not to leave you alone?" Derek guessed. Spencer nodded. "I'm not leaving you alone," Derek said. "The whole team's out there. I'll be right back." He hoped Hotch hadn't meant the statement as literally as Spencer was interpreting it.

"I don't know them," he pointed out.

Derek had to concede that one. After Spencer had been introduced to the team and then invited to come, they had immediately gone back to Derek's apartment to pack a go bag, then driven straight to Loring. Aside from the briefing and the few minutes in the office before that, the team hadn't seen Derek since he left work three days earlier to catch the first plane to Chicago. "When you take a study break, we'll fix that."

"But Hotch _said _–."

"I'l be right back," Derek cut him off, snapping a bit more than he meant to. "You just sit here and start reading."

Reluctanty, Spencer opened a book. Derek lingered as Spencer's eyes flickered back and forth between the pages and his brother, but after a few seconds Spencer was completely absorbed in the text, his skinny finger trailing down the page as he read at inhuman rates.

Truthfully, Derek was grateful to get a second away from everything as he slipped out of the room unnoticed. Drained couldn't even begin to touch how he was feeling. And he knew the worst was yet to come.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks yet again for all of the reviews. When I say I appreciate them what I really mean is I seriously love them and they make my day. Knowing that people are enjoying the story is why I post on this site! So, thanks!

This chapter is the longest yet, hope you enjoy…

Penelope Garcia's fingers loomed over her keyboard. She had been resisting the urge to look up Francine Morgan's obituary online for the past hour. She hated looking into her friend's personal lives – it gave her the creeps – but she hated being out of touch with Morgan even more. Her dark office combined with the flourescent glow of her computer screens usually comforted her but today it was causing her nothing but anxiety. She got up from her chair and began to pace. Again.

"Get ahold of yourself woman," she said. "He'll call you when he needs you."

As if on cue her phone rang. Garcia froze in surprise, then scrambled to put on her headset.

"Hello?" she answered, panicked.

There was a pause on the line. "Garcia?"

"Morgan!" she shouted, relief evident in her voice. "Morgan, my hot dark chocolate love mocha. I've been waiting for you to call."

Derek laughed. "Hot dark chocolate love mocha?" he repeated.

"Cut me some slack, I've been worried sick for three days. I missed you," she smiled.

"When we get back I'll take you on a proper date and you can call me all the names you want," he teased suggestively.

"What makes you think that you're the one I want to see?" Garcia asked. She sat back down at her computer and adjusted her hot pink glasses, having knocked them off balance rushing to put her headset on. With one keystroke she brought up a picture of Spencer Morgan. After trying to resist looking up any information on the Morgan family for three days, she had finally conceded to looking up a picture of Spencer that morning after the briefing. She had already seen him in person, so she figured a picture wasn't much of a pry. There were only a few available online: an Illinois ID card, yearbook photos, one that came from an article about the International Mathimatical Olympiad.

"Don't worry, you'll have plenty of time to get to know Spencer," Derek said. She could almost detect a hint of… something in his voice.

"How are _you_ doing sweet cheeks?"

Derek sighed. "You know I would tell you all about it, but I'm calling for the case baby girl."

"You wouldn't tell me all about it, but go for the office of supreme knowledge on all things evil and creepy anyways," she said.

Garcia could hear him laugh and she was glad he hadn't gotten offended at her quip. "We need all the information you can give us on werewolves, specifically if there are any folktales or legends about their mating or pack behaviors."

"Give me twenty minutes and it will be in your inboxes. Give me twenty-five and it can include screen shots of Taylor Lochner."

"Come on, Garcia, you know I don't like hearing about your other boyfriends," Morgan teased.

"Don't worry Morgan, you're the only man in my life. Werewolf human hybrids don't count." She heard him laugh and thank her, then he hung up the line. Garcia cracked her fingers, eager to get to work, eager to have something to do to occupy her thoughts away from the heartbreak of her best friend.

The pictures of Spencer was still on her main computer screen. "You're my baby now, too. Just wait til I get ahold of you," she said, smiling at the picture. Then she snapped up and shook her head. "That sounded way too unsubby," she muttered to herself, before diving into her work.

At the Loring PD, Derek snapped his phone closed. "Garcia's gonna e-mail in twenty," he told the team. He garnered a few nods of acknowledgement but nobody looked away from what they were doing. Derek joined JJ at the white board. The four victims's bite marks were well represented on the board. The ME had said that normal human teeth couldn't have made the bite marks. The unsub must have filed his teeth into points. He would have assumed it was an animal bite if the saliva hadn't been from a human. There were large pieces of flesh missing, mostly from the legs.

"How are you doing?" JJ whispered to him.

Derek could only shrug and look over at his brother, busy reading. "Truthfully? It feels good to be thinking about anything other than…"

JJ nodded as Derek faded off, not able to bring himself to put into words how his world had exploded around him. It seemed like he could hardly get the word "mom" out without crying. "Even if the 'other thing' is a serial killer?" JJ teased lightly, hoping he wouldn't take it the wrong way.

"I'm avoiding dealing with death by immersing myself in death," Derek said. He shook his head at his own behavior. "Profile away."

JJ smiled softly. "When my sister died, I spent weeks on the soccer field. I wouldn't talk to anyone. I just kept kicking that ball like the world would end if I stopped. My mom didn't understand, but my dad did. He knew I needed to do something that I was good at, that I could feel in control of."

"So catching killers is my coping mechanism? You think I'm using this case, these victims, to deal with my own problems?" Derek asked, a hint of anger in his voice. He had always prided himself on being able to see the unsub as a human being, no matter how inhuman the unsub seemed to be – or how inhumane he treated his victims. He didn't appreciate the insinuation that he was using senseless murder or the murderer for his own gain.

"I'm not profiling you," JJ said firmly. She sighed and braved a hand on his shoulder. She felt him tense under her touch and she recoiled. "I'm saying… I understand what it means to lose someone. I've been there."

"Thanks," Derek murmered. He wanted to mean it, but there was no emotion behind the words.

They stood in awkward silence for a few minutes. Both pretended to study the whiteboard, neither of them really taking anything in.

"There's one thing I don't get," Emily stated from a desk somewhere behind them. Both Derek and JJ turned to face her, glad that someone broke the silence between them. "The bite marks are messy and animalistic but hardly removed any flesh. The knife wounds-," Emily pointed to the 'fillet cuts' on the legs as the ME had so eloquently put it in his report, "these are practiced, sure, and purposeful. The bite marks look like an animal driven on instinct and pure emotion. The knife wounds suggest planning, forethought."

"The unsub relied on weapons for the first two murders but the third and fourth were beatings. There was no need to bring a knife to the last two killings," Derek said, picking up where she left off. "He plans the timing down to the minute, is detailed enough to be able to pull off the murders at all different times of the day without getting caught, and brings a knife, knowing that he will need to remove the flesh. But in the moment he brutally beats his victims and bites their flesh. Its inconsistent."

"Aren't werewolves human most of the time and werewolves only on a full moon?" JJ asked, then smiled selfconsciously. "Not that I believe in werewolves. But maybe our unsub believes he is human before and after the attacks and takes on a wolf mentality during the actual killing. I'm not exactly a werewolf authority, though." Most of the team shrugged – there was a reason why they had called Garcia for research help.

Derek looked over at Spencer who was dutifully working on the tablet in his "office." Every few seconds he would pause to jot down something in his notebook. "We've got a werewolf authority," Derek realized. "I told Spencer to start researching werewolves an hour ago."

"And he's already an expert?" Emily asked skeptically.

"I'd be surprised if there's something he _doesn't _know by now," Derek said defensively. He walked over to the conference room.

Spencer was swiping his finger across the screen every few seconds, reading at a mind-numbing speed, the fact that he was pausing to write in his notebook making it even more impressive. Derek squatted opposite him at the table he sat at and crept his fingers onto the tablet as Spencer jotted down a note. When he went back to the tablet he frowned at the presnece of his brother's hand. "Stop it," he mumbled, trying to push Derek's hand away to swipe the page again. When he wouldn't budge, he looked up.

"You told me to study," he protested.

"We need your help," Derek said. " Did you study werewolves?"

"Did you study werewolves?" Spencer repeated. "I studied lycanthropy."

"What do you know about lycanthropy?" Derek asked, assuming that lycanthropy was some psychology term for werewolf.

Spencer opened his mouth to answer but then clamped it shut tightly as Derek heard the door squeak open behind him. He turned from his brother expecting to see a member of his team. Instead, he saw the officer that had been so rude at the front desk standing in the doorway. He cleared his throat, clearly expecting some kind of action out of Derek. There was an awkward moment of silence as the officer glared expectantly at Derek, then at Spencer. Spencer ducked his head down and began to pick nervously at the skin on his forearms.

"Can I help you?" Derek finally asked. He moved to cover Spencer's hand lightly but Spencer jerked away from him.

"Can I help you?" Spencer repeated, turning his picking into sharp little stabs of his fingernails on his skin.

"I need the conference room," the officer said, tucking his thumbs into his belt, his bulging belly rolling over his hands.

"We were given permission-" Derek started.

"I know, but that don't change the fact that I need the room," the officer interrupted. "The mayor wants an update, this is the room we always use." His words weren't exactly confrontational, but his posture and the mixed look of superiority and prejudice smirked across his face… it put Derek on edge. And judging from Spencer's behavior, even he had picked up on the non-verbals.

"Can you find another place?" Derek suggested cooly. He drew up to his full height and stepped firmly between the officer and Spencer in a vain attempt to shield Spencer from the man's affront but there was no amount of shielding that could make Spencer forget what the cop had called him earlier or calm him from the anxiety he was feeling. Derek tried to get a little clarity and distance from the boiling emotions he was trying desperately to suppress. He had thought Hotch's invitation to Loring was a blessing but now he was hard pressed to remember why. The Morgan boys – Derek using cannibalism as therapy, Spencer so anxious that he was drawing blood with his fingernails.

The officer didn't seem phased by Derek's posturing. In fact, he was smirking at the attempt. "This is the con-frence room," he said, drawing out each syllable. "This is where we con-ference. Or are you stupid like your brother?"

Derek was inches away from losing his temper, the only thing holding him back was Hotch's words, _we're going to have to work closely with the locals._ He swallowed hard, trying to gain control over the emotions that were threatening to overthrow any good judgement he had left.

"Maybe I wasn't clear," the officer said, taking Derek's silence as an offence. "This isn't just the room we always use. This is the only one we got. We don't have all the fancy resources of Quan-ti-co here in Loring."

"Come on, man, your police chief gave us this room-," Derek started, finding his voice.

"For your retard, I know," the officer cut off, raising his voice. "And now I'm saying get your stuff and move."

"That will be enough."

The officer turned around to come face to face with Hotch.

"We are here at the request of your sheriff to help you solve this case. Please don't misunderstand me when I say that we will do all we can to assist you. But you will not disrespect my team in the process. And you will not call that young man a retard ever again."

The officer untucked his thumbs from his belt and drew up to his full height to face Hotch. "Is that so?" he asked. Spencer let out a small whimper.

Without hesistation, Hotch answered. "Yes. It is."

The officer stood his ground for few long seconds then shot an angry look at Derek. "Don't let him get in the way," he warned before leaving.

Spencer visibly relaxed as the officer walked away. As he did, Derek let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding in. Derek turned back to his brother and took note of the red marks on his arms. A few had drawn tiny drops blood. "Damn," he muttered. "You need bandaids."

"There's a first aid kit up front. I'll get it. You stay here," Hotch offered, though with the intensity that was still in his eyes from the confrontation it might as well have been an order.

"No, I can do it," Derek said quickly, moving toward the doorway where Hotch still stood. Spencer reached out a hand for Derek's sleeve but his fingers missed. He brought his bloody arm down to hit his leg in one sweeping motion.

"Derek," Hotch said, warned, quietly. "Stay with him. I'll get it." If Hotch was taken aback by the self injurous behavior he didn't show it.

Derek came face to face with Hotch, occupying the same space that the officer had only moments before. Derek drew in a breath, ready to argue, to shout, to explode. But the breath caught in his throat and in an instant he realized he didn't even have any words to say. He wished he could blame Hotch for something, _anything_. He wished had a reason to explode. He wished he could have an outburst like Spencer and have someone patiently comfort him.

Then he realized. He did have that.

Derek's eyes met Hotch's. Usually so full of intensity and often full of anger, they now held nothing but care and concern. "I'll get the first aid kit," Hotch said again gently.

Derek could only nod and it was then that he realized that the police station was completely still. His team, the officers, the detectives, the sherriff – they were all standing silently, watching the scene unfold. Spencer, thankfully, was still as unaware as Derek had been moments earlier.

"Are you okay?" Derek asked Spencer quietly. For the first time all day, through all the melt-downs, Spencer was really crying, a steady stream of silent tears fell down his cheeks. It broke something deep inside of Derek and he fought hard to keep his emotions locked down tight.

"Are you okay?" Spencer asked. "Are you okay?"

It took Derek a second to realize that the second repeated phrase was Spencer actually asking him. "I'm okay," Derek whispered, not daring to speak out loud in fear that his emotions would betray him. Moments later Hotch returned with the first aid kit. He set it down in front of Spencer and pulled out a few bandaids. Wordlessly he held out his hand and Spencer immediately held out his arm in return. He didn't flinch as Hotch pressed down around his small, self-inflicted cuts. A feeling of relief rushed over Derek, and with that, an overwhelming sleepiness. He hadn't realized how much the pressure of caring for Spencer had been weighing on him until Hotch had taken over.

"In Japan when one person helps another person, its customary to say 'sumimasen' instead of 'arigatou.' Its typically translated, 'excuse me,' but when used in the place of 'arigatou,' it means something like 'I'm sorry for bothering you, thanks for helping anyways,'" Spencer said quietly.

Hotch gently put on the last bandaid and smiled, easily decoding what Spencer was trying to say. "Your welcome," he said.

Spencer smiled, obviously somewhat embarassed. "Derek…" he asked, turning toward his brother.

"Yeah, kid?"

"I want to call mom now."

For perhaps the first and only time, Derek was thankful that his brother had a mental disability. There was a phone sitting in the middle of the table but Spencer either hadn't noticed it or hadn't put two and two together that he _could_ use it to make a call. Hotch looked at Derek, silently asking if Derek wanted him to take over. They were both so used to talking down an unsub in the heat of emotional situations, Derek was sure Hotch had already formulated an approach to get Spencer off the topic of his mom.

Not only off the topic, Derek realized, but out of the police station. The entire station was still silent and unmoving, all eyes either fixed on the conference room or awkwardly on the floor. There was a serial killer somewhere out there _eating the flesh of women._ Derek felt sick that he had drawn attention away from that. How much farther would the team be to solving the case had they not come? He wasn't in any position to help, and how had he even considered that Spencer could help? His brother couldn't even undo his seatbelt to get out of the car to throw up. God, he was so tired.

Spencer still stared at him awkwardly. Derek slowly nodded to Hotch to take over.

"Spencer," Hotch addressed calmly, getting the young man's attention. "We can't call right now because we're in the police station and we don't want anyone at home to get worried, so how about JJ takes you and Derek to a hotel now?"

Derek nodded in support of the plan as much as it killed him and Spencer didn't object, which was all the approval that Derek needed from him. Hotch motioned for JJ to come over. The team wouldn't be needing a media specialist anytime soon. JJ, equal parts professionalism and compassion, came over and offered Derek a small smile, hoping all was well between them. Derek couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes.

"Drive them to the hotel. Make sure they get something to eat," Hotch instucted. Derek felt his cheeks burn a bit at the insinuation that he would forget to eat dinner until he realized that, honestly, he probably would have. And, in turn, Spencer would have too.

"The case is solved?" Spencer piped up. "Was it a case of lycanthropy?"

"Lycanthropy?" Hotch asked.

"Lycanthropy. The delision of believing you're a werewolf," Spencer answered. "The DSM-II and III classified it as a drug induced delusion, however subsequent studies-."

"Not now, kid," Derek interrupted quietly.

Spencer's brow furrowed, trying to figure out his brother. "I'm on the case, right? Why can't we talk about it?"

"We're done for the day," Derek said, though in reality they were probably done for good. "We'll get some dinner, then we're going to a hotel."

Spencer nodded his approval of the plan. "And then we're going to call mom."

Derek sighed, but Spencer smiled.

"Don't worry," Spencer said. "I won't tell her theres a werewolf on the loose."

A/N: Spencer finds out about his mom in the next chapter…


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Once again, I'm thankful for your reviews, follows, and favorites!

This is it… Spencer finds out. I'll be honest, chapter 7 is somewhat of a question mark in my mind so there may be a bit of a wait between chapters. I'll post as soon as I can! Until then, I hope you enjoy!

The contents of Derek and Spencer's go bags were strewn around the hotel room. When Derek was on a case, he tried to make a point of staying tidy and organized. More often than not they got called in the middle of the night, and on rare cases where they were able to wake up at a decent time it still never felt like enough sleep. Toothbrush already loaded with toothpaste, shoes untied by the door, key card already in his pants pocket – little time savers that went a long way.

Spencer wasn't happy about the state of the room either, but Derek had pursuaded him to worry more about eating his dinner and less about the way the corner of the bedsheets weren't tucked in at perfect angles. Besides, there was clearly something else bothering Spencer. Between bites of hamburger his mouth was clenched tight, making it almost comical to watch him try to chew. Derek finished his food quickly then started getting the items they would need to get Spencer into bed. Sarah had done the nighttime routine Monday and Tuesday and Spencer was so tired from traveling on Wednesday that Derek had practically carried him into his apartment that night. He opened up the spiral bound notebook that Sarah had thoughtfully jotted down notes about Spencer in.

He could only laugh at the first point. "Establish a routine, try to make it as close to the one he already has as possible," he read aloud. He snuck a peak at Spencer; he wasn't paying any attention. "I wonder if mom had a routine established for how you could help catch an unsub. I wonder what she thinks of me intentionally bringing you to a small town with a delisuional psychopath."

Derek sighed and tossed the notebook on the table, causing Spencer to jump.

"Sorry kid," Derek said, trying to resist the urge to ruffle his hair. "Whats with the bad lips?" When Spencer didn't move to respond, Derek motioned toward his messenger bag slung behind his chair.

Spencer turned and grabbed his speechbook, opening it to a blank page. Derek tossed him a pen. Whatever he was thinking, he was obviously upset by it. His writing was slow and deliberate, nothing like the chicken scratch that had filled up his "FBI record" as Spencer had dubbed it. Derek tried to keep himself from looking his direction. Even though he knew the words he was writing weren't private – Spener would be reading them to him as soon as he was done – it still felt like an invasion of privacy to watch. Derek remembered once when he had fractured his collarbone playing football. His mom had wanted to help him do _everything_, shower, change his clothes, brush his teeth. Derek had flatly refused any help and he remembered being furious when he found out that she had spied on him during his first painful shower. She had sarcastically apologized for wounding his pride. Maybe that was why Derek didn't want to watch Spencer write in his book – he didn't want Spencer to feel embarassed at having a disability.

Not that Spencer cared at all about Derek's inner conflict as he brought his fist to his leg. Derek snapped out of his thoughts and grabbed his brother's arm. "Don't hit yourself," he said sternly, trying his hardest not to read the words already on the page.

Spencer struggled against Derek's strong grip, his lips tightly pursed, eyes screwed shut. There was some strong emotion in him he didn't have the words for, he had never felt it before. He didn't know how to describe it, but it was horrible. It was keeping him from thinking straight, he hated when he couldn't think straight. He squirmed under his brother's control.

Derek finally looked at the speechbook. "I want to go home to mom now," he read aloud.

Spencer felt Derek's hands let go and he immediately hit his legs as hard as he could. It did nothing to alleviate the emotions he felt inside so he tried again, and again. Nothing. Derek watched helplessly as his brother hit himself. He suddenly didn't have the fight in him to hold his brother down. He wasn't sure he even had the energy to tell Spencer to stop again. Tears sprang into his eyes yet again and he tried to blink them away so Spencer wouldn't see. If he could just get one night's sleep, one good night, he knew he could get through The Conversation. But the thought of telling Spencer now… he just couldn't.

Slowly, Spencer opened his eyes and saw as Derek settled back in the chair across from him, his fingers pinching the corners of his eyes, a move, Spener had learned, that meant that someone was trying to keep from crying.

"I'm sorry," Spencer said.

"Why are you sorry?" Derek asked.

"Why are you sorry? Because you always get upset when I hurt myself," Spencer answered. He subconsciously fingered the bandaids on his forearm, making him look younger than he was.

Derek sighed. "No, I don't," he objected, then rolled his eyes at himself at even trying to attempt such an obvious lie. "Okay I do. I don't like it when my little brother hurts himself. That's allowed right?"

Spencer nodded thoughtfully. "I would say I wouldn't do it again, but that would be a lie."

Derek had to laugh at Spencer's honesty. "Remember what I told you about my job? Profilers don't just look at the crime, they look at the motivation of the unsub to commit that crime." Spencer nodded. "So we don't need to talk about what you did, we need to talk about why you did it. What made you hurt yourself?"

"What made you hurt yourself?" Spencer repeated several times. Derek nodded toward the speechbook and Spencer grabbed it. He swallowed hard before reading. "I want to go home to mom now."

Derek had already read the words aloud, but the words still hit him hard. "You need to stay with me for now," Derek said quietly, his voice thick with the tears that he was swallowing back.

"But it hurts!" Spencer suddenly exploded. He grabbed Dereks hand forcefully and put it over his skinny chest, making Derek practically fall out of his chair. "Here! You have to make it stop!"

"Make what stop?" Derek asked, noticing how Spencer was trembling. Spencer's fingers dug into Derek's hand as Derek tried to maneuver himself from an awkward lunge to a kneeling position.

"I'm having a heart attack!" Spencer panicked. "It hurts!"

Derek tried to remain calm despite the bitter taste of adrenaline in his mouth, despite his own wildly beating heart, despite the thick knot that had developed in his throat, despite the fact that Spencer's fingernails were digging into his skin. "I don't understand kid," Derek said desperately. "Whats the… whats the logical explanation?" Maybe if he could switch Spencer into academic mode he could get an answer out of him.

"Logical explanation? My chest hurts, I feel dizzy, I want to cry."

"Are those symptoms of a heart attack?" Derek asked.

As suddenly as Spencer had grabbed Derek, he let go. "Are those symptoms of a heart attack? No. Not entirely. Not the crying. Crying is a secretomotor phenomenon unrelated to pain in the optic nerve or ocular membrane and certainly not related to the cardiovascular system."

Derek put both hands on the arm of the chair and let his head rest on them for a second, trying in vain to clear his head. "Then what is the illogical explanation for chest pains?" he asked, looking back up at Spencer.

He thought for a second. "It could be psychosomatic. Or emotional."

"Lets go with emotional," Derek said. "What emotions give you chest pains and make you cry?" Spencer looked at Derek blankly. Derek grabbed the speechbook and tapped the sentence on the page. "Know what I think? I think its homesickness."

"Its not physically possible for the heart muscle to ache or feel," Spencer objected.

"I don't know how it works," Derek said, "but it does. Its how I feel whenever I think of you, or Sarah or Desiree."

"Or mom."

Derek nodded slowly. If only it was just homesickness for mom. If only that was all that had been knotted in his stomach for days, threatening to overtake his whole body at any moment. His brother looked into his eyes awaiting an answer and Derek knew he couldn't put the truth off any longer. At first Derek had managed to convince himself he was protecting Spencer, but it was becoming obvious to him that he was really protecting himself. Spencer needed to know the truth.

"Come over here, kid," Derek said, walking to the bed and sitting at the head of the bed, leaning against the headboard. Spencer frowned and followed, but paused to pull out the corners of the top sheet and re-tuck them in neatly. Then he pulled his shoes off and neatly placed them at the foot of the bed. Slowly and awkwardly he got on the foot of the bed and crawled the length of it to sit next to Derek.

"I have something I have to tell you," Derek said. "Its okay if you don't want to talk back, you can just listen, but you need to pay attention." Spencer nodded in understanding. Derek took a deep breath. "Your sisters and I… we haven't been totally honest with you."

Spencer's brow furrowed.

"You're not staying with me for a week, you're going to be living with me for a while."

"But I live with mom," Spencer objected.

Derek shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Before he could stop himself he was crying. "I'm sorry, Spencer," he choked out. "I'm so sorry, man." He tried to take a deep breath, but it came in and out in raspy, broken spurts. Maybe there was a way he could keep the truth from Spencer forever, maybe there was some elaborate ruse they could all pull off. There had to be a way to keep Spencer from getting hurt. For as long as Derek could remember the Morgan family had done all they could to help Spencer move forward in life, to pull him as far as possible away from the traumatized, broken child who had shown up at the gas station at 9 years old. It seemed like a horrific injustice to make Spencer have to suffer any more.

"I'm so sorry," Derek whispered again.

"I live with mom," Spencer repeated his objection, his voice rising in pitch, in panic. "All my stuff is at home. Mom is at home. I live at home."

"No, that's… that's what I'm trying to tell you. Mom…" Derek faded off and took another deep breath, this one doing a better job at calming his emotions, even if just for a second. He looked into Spencer's wide, scared eyes. Spencer immediately looked away.

It was now or never.

"Spencer, mom… she passed away on Monday."

For a moment, it seemed as if time stopped. Spencer stared at the blanket, his eyes wide, then he looked over at Derek. "Was it the werewolves? Another victim might change the profile. Does the team know?"

Derek blinked in surprise. "No, kid, it… it has nothing to do with werewolves. She was… she was hit by a car," he sputtered out.

"In urban legends, werewolf attacks are often blamed on other creatures. Admittedly, usually other mythical creatures or plain wolves are singled out, but I don't think we can rule out vehicles."

Spencer sprung out of bed and put on his shoes. "We have to tell the team," he announced.

"Spencer – stop," Derek said, standing up and coming around to Spencer. "You need to stop."

"Stop what? Isn't that why you brought me? To help you at the FBI?"

Derek was at a complete loss. Of all the scenarios he had played out in his head, he had never considered this one. His brother, usually maddeningly literal and logical, was now having a delusional break from reality right in front of him. "What did I just tell you?" Derek asked in an attempt to get Spencer back to reality.

"What did I just tell you?" Spencer repeated. "'Spencer mom she passed away on Monday. No kid it it has nothing to do with werewolves. She was she was hit by a car. Spencer stop, you need to stop.'" Spencer stooped down to tie his shoe. "I have an eidectic memory," he said, as if Derek needed a reminder.

"You gotta listen to me," Derek pleaded. "Actually listen to what I'm trying to tell you."

"I did listen," Spencer argued. "Spencer mom she passed away on Monday. No kid it it has nothing to-."

Derek grabbed his brother's shoulders and shook him. "Stop it!" he shouted. "Stop it and listen!"

"Stop it and listen!" Spencer shouted back. "Stop it and listen! Spencer mom she passed away on Monday…"

Derek let the tears fall freely, unchecked, as Spencer repeated the words again. It was as if someone was narrating his own private hell. He held a tight grip on Spencer's shoulders as if by sheer willpower he could shake his brother into understanding. Spencer finished repeating Derek's word and stared, shocked, at his brother. He couldn't remember a time that Derek had ever yelled at him, much less laid a hand on him. The feeling in his chest was expanding to his lungs. It was getting harder and harder to breathe…

As Spencer stilled, Derek suddenly became aware of what he had done. "I… I'm sorry," Derek whispered, slowly letting go. "I didn't mean to… I'm sorry."

But Spencer couldn't nod, and he certainly couldn't find the words to express how he was feeling. All he could think about was the fact that he hadn't had a full breath in over two minutes and humans require oxygen to avoid asphyxiation…

Suddenly, Derek found himself grabbing for Spencer as his brother fainted.


	7. Chapter 7

Hi readers! First of all, I'm sorry this update took so long. I was off to a great start, then life got busy and I didn't have time to watch CM. Without watching it was hard for me to keep a good grasp on the characters. I'm not 100% satisfied with this chapter, but I didn't want to abandon this story. Thank you to those who helped me get through my writers block. Your suggestions kept me thinking and eventually this came out. I hope you enjoy, and I'll try to get another update out soon!

Please, please, please review. Seriously makes my day .

At 16, Derek had been long used to the steady stream of foster kids his mom had coming in and out of the house. Most were kids taken by CPS from their parents. They were just making a pit stop at the Morgans before heading off to a grandparent or aunt's house. Some stayed for a few weeks until their parents could get their acts together. Some lived at the Morgan house for months, usually kids that grew up in the system. Fran had loved each of them but she was always clear with social workers that even though she loved being mom to kids from all across the city, the only way to do right by her three biological children was to keep the official Morgan count to four: Fran, Sarah, Derek, and Desiree.

Until Spencer showed up at a gas station and the Morgan family was irrevocably changed.

A sharp knock on the door snapped an almost sleeping Derek back to attention. His first thought was to grab his gun but he quickly dismissed that idea. For a second he thought he might have dreamed the knock until it came again. Derek pulled his exhausted body out of bed and drug himself to the door. Through the peephole lens he could see JJ's distorted face. Derek had hoped she would stop by. She had driven them to the hotel and then gone out to get them food and Derek had barely uttered an audible "thank you" for her help. He wasn't even sure why he had practically ignored her, maybe an attempt to avert pity or save his pride, maybe because he had been annoyed at her profiling earlier. His behavior seemed so childish in hindsight.

Derek unlatched the door and opened it. She gave him a soft smile. "If this is a bad time, I can come back…"

"No, come in," Derek said, holding the door open for her. "About before, I shouldn't have…"

She shook her head. "I shouldn't have said anything, especially in the middle of the police station."

"Call it good?" Derek offered.

JJ smiled. "Yeah," she said. She took stock of the room. The trash from dinner was still sitting on the table. One of the Morgan brothers hadn't finished their meal but JJ wasn't about to inquire which one it was. Spencer was laying in bed. He looked so skinny laid out, and so young. "He must have been exhausted after everything that happened today," she commented quietly.

Derek sighed. "Not exactly." He motioned for her to sit at the table with him. "I told him what happened and he didn't take it well."

"What happened?" JJ asked. She immediately regretted the question. She knew Derek hated talking about anything personal and it hadn't exactly gone well the last time she had asked.

She could almost see the thoughts working in his head, his desire to keep his private life private and his need to talk, his need for help in shouldering his burdeon. "I told him," Derek said slowly, "and he had some kinda break with reality, then fainted."

JJ's eyes widened in surprise. "Should we get him to a hospital?" she asked.

Derek shook his head. "He used to faint a lot as a kid, its nothing new. But its been a while."

JJ nodded thoughtfully. "When he wakes up…" she trailed off, not sure how to finish. She didn't want to make any wrong assumptions about Spencer's mental ability.

"Will he remember?" Derek supplied for her. "Honestly, I don't know. He's got this genious memory, remembers _everything._ Every damn word I say," Derek said, the bitterness of having his mom's death recounted over and over again still fresh in the pit of his stomach.

"Hopefully he'll remember," she said lamely. JJ rolled her eyes at herself and sat back in the chair, her back hitting the cheap hotel chair with a thud, all pretenses of being calm and collected flying out the window. "I'm sorry Derek, god I'm so sorry," she said. "I'm surrounded by death every day. I specialize in telling parents that their child has been brutally murdered. And every day I think, 'I wish there was something I could do to change this.' Not just help catch the unsub but _really_ change it, make the pain go away. But I've never wished for it more than I do for you and Spencer. I hope you know that if there's anything you need, me and the team, we'll do it."

Derek couldn't look at her, he could only nod and swallow thickly, but there wasn't anything that needed to be said anyways. The rhythmic sounds of Spencer's breathing lulled them into a comfortable silence. For Derek, the sight of his brother was the only thing tethering him to reality. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that the breaths belonged to someone else. How many times had he fallen asleep with Hotch or Gideon in the same hotel room, each of them with their cell phones next to their heads, shoes practically on their feet, ready to go back to some police station at a moments notice? He could almost pretend that none of this had happened. His mom would have probably been getting Spencer ready for bed, going through their well practiced nighttime routine – one that Derek had all but thrown out the window. Then again, how could Derek know what his mom would be doing? It wasn't like he had visited home regularly once he got his football scholarship.

"What is it?" JJ asked gently.

Derek realized he must have quite the expression on his face from all the emotions and thoughts running through his head. He looked over at Spencer. "I swear the kid doesn't age," he said. "He looks as innocent and unassuming as the first time I saw him." He grabbed the speechbook off of the table and opened up the front cover. His heart burned at the familiar handwriting beautifully printed inside. "_Spencer's Eleventh Speechbook. Here's to empty pages staying empty. Love, Mom_," he read aloud.

"Eleven?"

"Guess so. When he gets upset he… destroys stuff. Or himself." Derek put the book on the table again. "I thought he was on book seven, eight maybe. Shows you how much I visited," he said, the last few words biting at him more than he would have liked. "Mom worked so hard to get him to talk. If he could public speak… man, she knew the world would be his."

Derek was interrupted by the sound of a cell phone vibrating. Both agents instinctively reached for their pockets, but JJ stopped herself from grabbing hers. She watched as Derek looked at the name on the caller ID, his jaw working slightly, his finger hovering between the "accept" and "decline" buttons. "It's Sarah," he told her, as if that explained why he wasn't answering. When the phone stopped vibrating, JJ couldn't tell if Derek was relieved or dissapointed that he had missed the call. Either way, he tossed the phone on the table next to the speech book and the trash.

Had JJ not had her eyes on Spencer, neither would have noticed when his skinny hand gripped the blanket. "Derek," JJ said quietly, urgently. "I think he's waking up."

Slowly Derek approached his brother's bedside and crouched down beside him so that his head was level with Spencer's. He couldn't help but smile as Spencer slowly opened one eye and then the other. "Hey," Derek said quietly. "You feeling okay?"

Spencer thought for a moment then slowly nodded. He watched Derek's face change. A smile, then his eyebrows furrowed, and his lips pursed. Spencer tried to place the expression… anger? Frustration? His stomach knotted at the thought of those emotions being directed towards him.

Spencer felt his brother's large hand prying open his fingers. "Spencer, relax," Derek said as he tried to keep Spencer from making such a tight fist that he was drawing blood with his fingernails. He wished he knew what to say to make his brother stop hurting himself. Even if he hadn't visited hOme regularly after leaving for college, he knew that the frequency of Spencer's self-injurous behavior had increased since he had taken responsibilty for his care. Spencer relaxed a little under his brother's grip. "Spencer, I wanted to tell you…" Derek faded, painfully aware that JJ was in the room and that he hadn't exactly disclosed the full story of why Spencer had fainted. "I'm sorry I hurt you. Can you forgive me?"

Spencer nodded slowly.

Derek hated to ask and the words made him nauseous, but he had to be sure. "Kid, do you remember what I told you before you fainted?"

Spencer took a moment to process the question, then he seemed to need another moment to find the words. "Do you remember what I told you before you fainted?" he repeated without any emotion. "Yes. Mom is dead."

Derek had to quickly school his facial expression. All facts with Spencer, as if he were reciting one of the millions of trivia facts in his head. As tears threatened for the hundreth time that day, Derek wondered which brother had it better.

The two brothers stared at eachother for a few more seconds until Spencer broke the eye contact that was normally so rare for him anyways. "I want to go back to sleep," Spencer said. "Is it 9:30 yet?"

Spencer was referring to his routine. Derek glanced at his watch - 7:45pm. He looked a Spencer who's eyes were already drooping again, and then at JJ, who could only shrug her agreement to the white lie. "Almost," Derek told his brother. "Lets get you ready for bed, then it'll be time."

"It takes me 14 minutes to get ready for bed."

"Then its 9:16," Derek told him. What was one more lie on top of what he had already done wrong?

That got Spencer's eyes open. JJ couldn't help but smile as Spencer stumbled out of bed, reminding her of a newborn fawn on his tall lanky legs. He was probably still a little lightheaded from fainting. Derek grabbed his brother's shoulders to steady him but Spencer immediately shyed away from the touch, jumping back and hitting the back of his leg on the end table.

"Don't touch!" Spencer shouted.

Spencer's back leg was bent awkwardly to accommodate for the end table, his arms were wrapped around his torso. Derek took his outstretched hands and rubbed his face, completely lost. Both brothers remained frozen until JJ stood up. "Number one, choose pajamas," she said, reading from the spiral bound notebook that Derek had tossed on the table next to her earlier. She stole a look at Derek, silently asking for permission to take over. Like Hotch, she was more than capable of talking down emotional situations. Thankfully, there was nothing but relief and appreciation written across Derek's face.

"Number one, choose pajamas," Spencer repeated slowly, as if his mind was waking up again. "Where are my pajamas?" he asked, a hint of panic in his voice.

"In your suitcase," Derek said quietly, testing the waters with his brother. Spencer's eyes moved around the room until his eyes landed on the black bag. "Can I help you?" he asked. For more than 10 years, Spencer's pajamas had always been in the same drawer in the same dresser in the same room in the same house. And, Derek realized, for the majority of those nights, the same woman had helped him get ready for bed. Even when Derek was in high school and Spencer had first moved in with them, Derek never helped him get ready. Derek and Spencer had done plenty of other things, but at the end of the day, Spencer and his mom would always climb the stairs together. Sarah and Desiree helped when their mom had to work, but the night time routine was always somewhat sacred. Derek's presence was making Spencer nervous, that was obvious. He walked over to the suitcase, located right next to JJ.

"He always did this with my mom, and if not my mom then my sisters," Derek whispered to her as he unzipped the suitcase.

"Do you think the male presence is making him nervous?" JJ asked, carefully wording the sentence. _Do you think his brother is making him nervous? _She could have just as easily asked.

Derek shrugged. He grabbed a t-shirt and sweat pants then flipped the suitcase lid closed. "JJ… I wouldn't ask if I had another option…" he said, fading off. He hoped JJ understood he was asking for help.

"I _want_ you to ask," JJ said. "That's what I was telling you earlier. We're your team, your family. We're here for you if you'll let us be."

Derek looked as tired as he looked overwhelmed. He handed JJ the pajamas in defeat. "Thank you," he said quietly, looking her straight in the eyes.

JJ had to blink back tears and broke eye contact before she lost it. Derek Morgan never asked for help, he never let anyone into his personal life, and he never, ever, gave up. The Derek Morgan before her was a broken man.

She cleared her throat and turned toward Spencer. "I'm going to help you get ready for bed, if that's okay with you," she told him.

Spencer nodded. "'Ready for bed' is an English idiom. It's called my bedtime routine. I was already in bed once and I didn't do anything to get ready to be in it the first time," he said. JJ headed toward the motel bathroom armed with pj's, a toiletries bag, and the spiral bound notebook, and motioned for him to follow. Spencer hesitated for only a second before following her. "English idioms are always illogical. Do you know the origins of many of them are rooted…"

Spencer's monologue faded out as JJ closed the bathroom door behind them. Derek sat down on the bed as he listened to the faucet turn on and off, the sound of a toothbrush get tapped on the edge of the sink, a quickly stifled laugh from JJ, surely at something innocently hilarious that Spencer said. He felt a pang of guilt; it should have been him helping his brother. If only he hadn't shaken Spencer, if only he hadn't taken him by the shoulders in his own anger and grief. How often had he cursed Spencer's birth parents for hurting him? Now Spencer was afraid that Derek would hurt him, too. It seemed like he had lived a year in the last few days. He couldn't even remember what he had done the week before. Watched sports on tv? Gone out with the team for drinks? Slept in his own bed? Everything seemed so trivial now. Except sleep… sleep sounded wonderful…

A little more than 14 minutes later, JJ and Spencer emerged from the bathroom, Spencer all ready for bed. JJ smiled at Derek, sound asleep on the bed. Her phone began to vibrate and she plucked it from her pocket. Spencer, still acutely aware that he was still on the case of a werewolf, waited impatiently for her to answer.

"JJ," she answered. It was Hotch. "Okay… okay… that's great… I'll let them know… I'll be there in 20 minutes." She moved to hang up the phone when Hotch's voice caught her attention. "Yeah?... yeah… It was a rough night but they're going to be alright."

She hung up and turned to Spencer. She wanted to hug him so badly, but she knew that would break any fragile bond of trust he had started to build with her. "They caught the unsub," she whispered excitedly. "It was because of you. Your tip about lycanthropy helped form the profile that led to his capture."

Spencer broke out into a huge grin. "Lycanthropy is the term for a subject's delusion that he or she is a werewolf," he told her, happiness evident in his voice.

"I'm glad we had our genius to tell us that," JJ complimented.

Spencer completely missed the compliment. "I do have three doctorates," he told her.

JJ's eyes widened in disbelief. Spencer wouldn't say it if he didn't at least believe it to be the truth. "Well…" she sputtered out. "We're lucky to have you. We'll celebrate tomorrow. Tonight I've got to go back to the station and finish up some work."

"Okay, I have to go to bed after my bedtime routine is done," Spencer told her, as if JJ had invited him to come back to the station too. "Goodnight, JJ."

JJ turned to put her phone in her bag on the table. When she turned back around, she saw that despite there being two queen sized beds, Spencer had chosen to sleep right next to Derek. Within seconds of his head hitting the pillow his eyes were already closed. Derek stirred slightly as Spencer's weight hit the bed next to him and JJ took the small opportunity to crouch down next to Derek.

"Hey," she whispered.

He sleepily opened his eyes, startled to see JJ's face. "Hey," he said, starting to sit up. "Sorry I fell asleep."

"No, don't get up," JJ whispered. "I just wanted to let you know that they caught the unsub. Spence's tip about lycanthropy helped set the profile."

Derek couldn't help but laugh. "Here I thought I brought him here so _I_ could help the team," he said. "Thanks for telling me."

JJ smiled. "That's not even the best part," she whispered. Derek looked at her confused. She gestured toward Spencer. "Whatever happened earlier… he isn't scared of you. He's sleeping in your bed because he feels safer next to you. He's just used to a woman helping him with his routine."

Derek felt the tears well up yet again and some of the extra weight he had been carrying lift off as he took in a deep breath. "Thanks," he said again.

"Don't mention it," JJ said. "I've got to get back to the station for a briefing. See you tomorrow."

Derek nodded as a peaceful sleep overtook him before JJ was even out the door.


	8. authors note

Hi readers,

I am so very appreciative of all of the reviews, favorites, and follows that you've given me and this story. I had every intention of continuing it when I started it, I even had an ending all worked out (which is very rare for me – usually I just write and wherever that takes me, it takes me). But looking at where my life is at, I just don't think I have time to write, nor is it the best use of the little free time that I do have.

So in an effort to one: keep this story alive, and two: keep myself disciplined, I would like to open up the ownership of this story to someone new. If you're interested in taking over, please PM me and we can talk.

There are thousands and thousands of stories on this website that go unfinished and thousands and thousands (and thousands) more that are better and more popular than mine, so I feel a bit egotistical presuming that someone else would want to continue writing it, or that it would be missed if I just stopped posting. But it seems like people have enjoyed it up to this point and I hate leaving things unfinished. And I really do appreciate all the people who have told me they've enjoyed it! I'm sorry I won't be able to see it through to the end.

If you're interested, PM me.

Thanks!


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